Frankenstein (2025): A Haunting Masterpiece That Reignites Gothic Horror

★★★★★ 5/5 Stars

Guillermo del Toro's long-awaited reimagining of Mary Shelley's timeless masterpiece doesn't just breathe life into the Frankenstein story—it electrifies it with raw, visceral emotion that left me trembling in my seat. This isn't merely a film; it's a gut-wrenching meditation on what it means to be human, to love, and to be utterly, devastatingly alone.

From the opening sequence, where Oscar Isaac's tormented Victor Frankenstein conducts his unholy experiment amid a symphony of crackling electricity and thunderous drama, I was completely transfixed. The creature's awakening isn't the horror-show spectacle we've seen countless times before—it's a birth, painful and beautiful and absolutely heartbreaking. When those eyes first opened and that guttural cry escaped, I felt tears streaming down my face. This is cinema at its most powerful.

Jacob Elordi delivers what can only be described as a career-defining performance as the Creature. Buried beneath Rick Baker's phenomenal prosthetics, Elordi brings such profound humanity to this "monster" that calling him such feels like a betrayal. His journey from innocent confusion to bitter rage to desperate yearning for connection is rendered with such devastating authenticity that every moment feels like a knife to the heart. The scene where he discovers his reflection and realizes his otherness? I audibly gasped—as did the entire theater.

What sets this Frankenstein apart is its unflinching commitment to the novel's philosophical depth. This isn't about jump scares or Gothic atmosphere alone (though Benjamin Wallfisch's score is hauntingly magnificent). It's about abandonment, about fathers failing their children, about society's cruelty toward those who are different. When the Creature pleads with Victor to create him a companion, Elordi's performance is so achingly vulnerable that I found myself hoping—praying—that Victor would relent, even knowing the story's tragic trajectory.

The film's visual language is nothing short of spectacular. Cinematographer Roger Deakins paints each frame with darkness and ethereal light, creating a world that feels both timelessly Gothic and startlingly immediate. The Swiss Alps sequences are breathtaking, vast and cold and mirroring the isolation at the story's core. Del Toro's signature attention to detail means every shadow, every texture, every rain-soaked cobblestone feels purposeful and alive.

But what truly elevates this Frankenstein is its beating heart. This is a love story—twisted,

tragic, and ultimately transcendent. The relationship between creator and creation, the Creature's desperate need for acceptance, Victor's guilt-ridden horror at what he's wrought—these emotional threads are woven with such delicate intensity that the film's climax left me sobbing openly.

This Frankenstein doesn't offer easy answers or comfortable resolutions. It challenges us to confront our own monstrosity, our capacity for both creation and destruction. It asks: who is the real monster? And the answer is far more terrifying than any creature design could ever be.

A triumph of Gothic storytelling, emotional depth, and cinematic artistry. This is the definitive Frankenstein for our generation.

In theaters now. See it. Feel it. Remember it forever.